


Easy Living

by sagesiren



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24601966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagesiren/pseuds/sagesiren
Summary: Her day had started nearly forty hours before when North Korea had marched too far South for anyone's liking, and she'd been subsisting on coffee and frustration at the American government's incompetence since.While her fledgling organization wasn't large enough nor old enough to be regarded as a player on the national level quite yet, her agents were more capable than any others in the country by half, and she still suspected vital information was being withheld.Not to mention that the process of moving her base of operations to D.C. - and every agent along with it - was hard enough without a war complicating things.Or a child.(It's 1950 and Peggy decides she needs a live-in nanny after gaining custody of her niece, Sharon. Enter: Angie.)
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli
Comments: 7
Kudos: 128
Collections: SSR Confidential 2020





	Easy Living

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sadieb798](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadieb798/gifts).



The moment Peggy stepped into the Jarvis' home, she knew something bad was going to happen.

Peggy was already in a foul mood. Her day had started nearly forty hours before when North Korea had marched too far South for anyone's liking, and she'd been subsisting on coffee and frustration at the American government's incompetence since. 

While her fledgling organization wasn't large enough nor old enough to be regarded as a player on the national level, her agents were more capable than any others in the country by half, and yet she still suspected vital information was being withheld. 

Not to mention that the process of moving her base of operations to D.C. - and every agent along with it - was hard enough without a war complicating things.

Or a child.

"What's wrong?" Peggy demanded, hands on her hips as Edwin fluttered around the kitchen. 

"Nothing's wrong. Sharon is in the peak of health. Her nap was delayed today, so she’s running behind schedule.”

She started to pull bottles from the fridge and stuff them into the bag with Sharon's other supplies. "Mr. Jarvis, I have very little patience left today."

"Would you stay for tea?” he asked, “Ana's making beef tzimmes for dinner."

Ana appeared as if summoned, holding a babbling Sharon. "Someone is very happy to see her Aunt Peggy," she said with a big smile.

Peggy had been digging for any mothering instinct she might have left after she’d lost Steve, and along with it all of the plans she'd had for their future, and the best she'd been able to do for the month that Sharon had been in her care was take some pride over the fact that she was clearly a bright girl—advanced, even, by her pediatrician’s standards. 

But the idea of taking the child back to her flat, putting her to bed and being constantly reminded of Michael's death was more daunting than calling up the President himself for yet another argument.

Peggy held out her hands as Ana passed her over and reminded herself that she could manage it. That she’d have to get used to managing it. What was one more night of caring for this unwanted child in the eighteen years she had ahead of her?

"Would you be kind enough to tell me the bad news that your husband is too cowardly to say himself?" she asked.

Ana combed her fingers through Sharon's thin baby hair, gentle over the soft spot on her skull. "Mr. Stark has decided that he's going to keep his main residence here."

Peggy remembered training for the war, jumping out of a plane for the first time with the sensation that her internal organs were all jamming themselves up toward her throat. 

This was somehow worse. "I'll talk to him," she said through a grimace, shifting Sharon in her arms. 

Ana’s hand was just gentle on Peggy’s arm as it had been on Sharon, as if she was just as breakable. She hated that she was so transparent.

"He's made up his mind. And you know we are simply heartbroken about it."

"How the hell does he plan on running SHIELD from New York?"

"He is commissioning a jet for himself. He believes the night life in the nation's capital will pale in comparison to what New York City offers," Edwin replied, the distaste clear in his tone.

“He’s an idiot.” If his home was still New York, then that’s where Edwin and Ana would be. Sharon stopped babbling in favor of chewing on her fingers, drool dripping onto Peggy’s blouse. "I'll be back early tomorrow. Thank you, again," she said stiffly.

"Let me drive you home, Ms. Carter," Edwin said, finally giving up his fiddling with the teapot. "It’s clear you’ve not gotten any sleep."

"I've done worse than drive a car with less sleep," she assured him, though he followed her outside regardless. 

He opened the passenger side door and held out his hands. "Let me?" She let him handle getting the child strapped into her carseat that hung over the back of the bench. "It's not just Sharon we're going to miss," Edwin said softly, once he had made sure Sharon was secure.

"I know," Peggy said, and hoped that her expression conveyed the depth to which she cared. She valued Edwin and Ana both as confidants, friends, and occasionally partners. Babysitting was an added bonus. 

If she'd had more than an hour of sleep in the last two days, she might have said so. 

"I'll drop her off in the morning. Likely around five."

"You need more sleep than that."

"I need a lot of things.” Peggy started the car. He shut the door and didn't press the issue in what she assumed was a parting gift.

She'd always enjoyed driving, but it had become a new favorite pastime when she'd discovered how Sharon was relaxed by it. Sure enough, the six month old was asleep in minutes. 

Peggy had no idea if that was good for her to sleep so erratically, but Dr. Spock said to trust her instincts and her instincts said to enjoy the quiet while it lasted. Peggy's own racing thoughts slowed while she drove, putting her in the sort of calm she rarely experienced since getting the call from Michael's estate.

He'd survived being a prisoner of war, decided it wasn't important enough to inform Peggy of this when liberated by the Allies, spent four years as a farm hand in England, married a girl that was barely out of school, and passed during the pregnancy from a war injury complication.

The girl he'd married had no family left. Peggy was listed as the next of kin when she’d died during the birth.

It was something she still was struggling to grasp. She'd seen men come back changed from the war, but they had always been so close. She'd had to lose him twice. It sometimes felt as if Michael knew how all of this would play out, how she would have shunned the idea of motherhood on principle after losing the only person she’d ever consider having a child with. 

And with all the children being born during the last few years, and Peggy being in a position where she had the means to afford one, it would have been selfish to try and find a home for Sharon elsewhere. 

Though Peggy had certainly considered it. She'd even thought about asking the Jarvises to adopt her. Sharon would surely have a better childhood with them as her parents.

But the stubborn part of her said this was truly the last part of her brother, and perhaps the end of the Carter bloodline, and that she needed to do it - raise the child, move cities, run SHIELD, try to end a war the world didn’t need in the midst of recovering from the last one, attempt to find a balance in new clashes with the Soviets - on her own.

Easy, Peggy thought to herself, as she stopped outside of her flat and closed her eyes to the cries of a child unhappily awoken.

Sharon's love of car rides did not extend to road trips, as it seemed, and she made her complaints known for half of the ride to D.C. They made it to their new house in record time, as Peggy had ignored speeding laws for the last leg of their journey.

Howard had a bought the house for Peggy, which she already regretted agreeing to; on her first walk through, she thought it was far too big for her and Sharon alone. There were tall ceilings in the entry way, and just down the hall a state of the art kitchen with a black and white tiled floor, light green counters, and white wood cabinets. There were six bedrooms--one could be an office for Peggy, a room for each of them, a playroom for the child, and still two left over. There was a generously sized living room, a den, space in the basement Peggy planned to convert into a home gym for herself. 

On her second walk through, Peggy was positive it was a ridiculous size for the two of them.

After choreographing the movers and all of the furniture that she'd taken from her small home outside of New York City it seemed to grow in size, her furniture dwarfed against the grandeur of the house.

"What do you think?" Peggy asked, crouching next to where Sharon was pushing herself up on her hands and knees, and flopping back onto the hardwood floor. "We really ought to forbid Uncle Howard from buying us anything."

Sharon made a sound, and sprawled out her hands. They were covered in grime, from the house and from the movers, most likely. A little dirt couldn't hurt the child. Hopefully. 

"I have better things to be doing than this," she told her, lifting Sharon from the ground to carry her to the sink in the kitchen. 

Peggy spent the next day at the new SHIELD building on Roosevelt Island deputizing agents to take care of Sharon, approving final construction plans, yelling at her newly assembled foreign affairs team, and asking her secretary's advice on the ad she was writing for the paper.

She'd decided to search for a live-in sitter; it wasn’t as if she didn’t have the space, and she knew that after a long day, as much as she adored Ana and Edwin, going out of her way to retrieve Sharon was exhausting. It would also mean someone to take care of laundry, a bit of tidying, too, and the middle of the night cries when Peggy was either still doing work or finally getting to sleep. She put the ad out with an alias, not willing to let someone who might want to harm her know where she lived.

The interviews took place over the next week. Somehow, everyone she met seeming too strict to help raise Sharon the way Peggy intended, too soft to put up with the world Peggy would be unwittingly dragging them into, or not suited for any type of human interaction whatsoever.

She was ready to give up on the entire affair and use every weapon in her arsenal to convince Howard to move his main estate - along with the Jarvises - to Washington when she heard another knock.

The woman on the other side had dirty blonde hair falling in waves around her face, and was looking up at Peggy with an eager and friendly smile.

“Can I help you?" Peggy asked, calculating where here closest gun was. She didn't appear to be any type of threat, but Peggy wasn't going to underestimate a pretty woman. She'd played that part herself enough times. 

“I’m here about the nanny job?” The woman held out the newspaper with the ad circled, a few exclamation points drawn next to it. “You’re Ms. Michaels, right?”

Peggy nodded, stepped back to let her in. “And you are?”

“Angie,” the woman said with a big grin. She held her hand out. “Angie Martinelli. Pleased to meet you, Ms. Michaels.” Her grip was strong, and she held Peggy's gaze, but did look around at the large foyer.

Peggy led her to the living room where Sharon was asleep on a blanket on the floor, one fist curled in the blanket next to her, exhausted from the day of meeting people. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, thank you.”

Peggy sat in the armchair. Angie sat on the couch opposite her. “So, Ms. Martinelli. Tell me about yourself.”

Angie's back was ramrod straight. She was almost too perky for Peggy's taste, her eyes as bright as the rest of her. They shifted to something softer when she looked down at Sharon. “I'm twenty five and I love kids! I’m waitressing right now, but I’m looking for something different.”

“And you have a history of childcare?”

“I… yes.”

“But?” Peggy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No 'but's! I've got four younger siblings and I helped to raise 'em all. No professional experience, but I'm basically a mom already." 

"Do you still live with your family?" 

“Well,” Angie wrinkled her nose and took a breath. “So, the thing is, I live with my youngest brother, Frankie. He’s four and I’ve been taking care of him for the past couple years, which has been fine before now because my other brother, Christopher, was helping out while I was at the diner, but now my aunt - who’s taking care of Gia, she’s ten, and she’s a _riot_ \- doesn’t think it’s a boy’s place to help with the family, so she paid for him to go off to boarding school, and then there’s Luca but he’s at college, and so here I am, stuck with Frankie. Not that I’m stuck with him, I mean, I love him to death.” She wrung her hands in her lap.

“I see.” Peggy's brows and thoughts only just started to pull together before Angie continued. 

“Right, and I can’t really do the whole waitressing thing, so I’m thinking, this live-in nanny stuff I can do! Frankie doesn’t need much, and we can share a bed, although,” Angie glanced around, “it seems like you probably have at least a closet in here with enough room for him, but I’ll pay for all his stuff, and it won’t take away from my ability to care for your little one. Plus, like I said, I grew up looking after four kids while my parents worked, so two is a breeze!”

Peggy folded her hands together, thinking mostly that Sharon and Frankie had the same age difference as she and Michael did. As much as that alone made her want to say yes, it wasn't a good idea. Having one child in the house was enough of a liability, and Sharon was already loud and messy without being mobile yet. Imagining a second child doing the same but with the ability to run around the house, paired with a constant stream of chatter from Angie was enough to make up her mind.

“Unfortunately,” Peggy said, and Angie’s face fell, “I was looking for someone who would be able to focus solely on Sharon.”

“Of course. I understand,” Angie said, and she smoothed over her disappointment in a way some of the best agents Peggy knew weren’t able to.

Sharon, with impeccable timing as always, chose that moment to wake up with a snuffle and a whine, quickly devolving into shrieks.

Peggy sighed as she bent to lift Sharon into her arms, and started to bounce her, pat her back, do everything she’d seen Ana do to calm her down. None of it worked. Blasted child. “Thank you for your interest, Angie, and if you leave your name and number I’ll be in touch if the situation changes,” she said over the sound of Sharon’s cries. 

Angie nodded and jotted down her information. Without another word she gathered her purse from the seat next to her, and let Peggy walk her toward the door. Her hand was on the doorknob when she turned back. “Can I try and calm her?”

Sharon was flailing her fists around in a misery that Peggy could not understand - her diaper was dry, she’d eaten less than an hour ago, and she hadn’t missed any of her usual naps that day - so she handed Sharon over. 

Angie settled Sharon on her stomach on one of her arms, and rocked her like that for a moment. The crying quieted. “Frankie, when he was this age, he used to work himself up into a panic after naps, especially if they weren’t on his schedule. Does she usually sleep now?”

Peggy shook her head, eyes widened in awe.

“Yeah, sometimes something to distract ‘em helps, and just a new angle - or pressure on her stomach, like this, see? - is probably enough to get her mind off of being confused and not being happy about it.”

She smiled and handed Sharon back to Peggy, before leaning down to look Sharon directly in the eye. Instead of using the cloyingly sweet voice every other prospective nanny had, she used the same voice as she did to talk to Peggy, and said, “You be nice to your mama, you hear? She seems like a very overworked lady.”

“Aunt,” Peggy corrected, and gave a tight smile. 

Angie nodded. “Your aunt, then. She’s tired. Even if she tries to hide it behind her cute accent. It was nice to meet you, Ms. Michaels,” she said, and saw herself out.

Peggy stepped out onto the front porch just before the woman made it to the end of the driveway. “Angie?” she called, and Angie turned, face a picture of innocence. “When can you start?”

* * *

After the most thorough background check Peggy could manage with the few favors she was owed, and a moving day that consisted of Frankie hiding behind Angie's legs and running upstairs with his small bag, they settled into an easy schedule.

Peggy would leave before the rest of the household was awake, and return right before or right after the children were put to bed. She would reheat the leftovers from a dinner that Angie had prepared that evening, finish her work in the home office, and would catch Sharon and Angie both on a late night feeding to say goodnight.

It was after a month of this same routine that Peggy woke at her normal time while it was still early enough to be dark out, and heard a clatter from the kitchen. 

Adrenaline coursed through her, as familiar as the feeling of her gun in her hand when she grabbed it from under her pillow. She crept downstairs, her blouse half buttoned and hanging over her skirt. She thanked her past self for having snuck around the house like this, familiarizing herself with the creaks, and knew which stair to skip to keep herself shrouded in silence. The light was on in the kitchen and Peggy waited just outside of the doorway, listening, until she heard another clatter, and a woman’s voice cursing in Italian. 

Peggy rolled her eyes, tucked the gun into the back of her skirt and adjusted the blouse over it before stepping into the kitchen. “What are you doing?” she demanded, hands on her hips as adrenaline faded to frustration.

Angie startled, a bowl wobbling on the counter as her hand flew to her chest. “English! You scared me,” she said, and grabbed the bowl before it rolled to the floor. She glared at Peggy as if getting out of bed before Angie was ready for her was the single most offensive thing she could have done. Angie's gaze seemed to hover where Peggy's shirt wasn't entirely done up, but flicked away quickly enough Peggy couldn't be certain. “I thought I’d try and get breakfast ready for you. I wanted to have it done before you were awake.” 

“I can rarely sleep past six.” Peggy straightened her shirt as she walked to the coffee maker, glad to find it had already started to percolate, a mug waiting next to it.

“Did you get any sleep at all? You were still on the phone in your office by the time I turned in.”

“I got enough.”

“That sounds like a no. Let me guess: you worked in the war?”

Peggy’s shoulders stiffened for the half second before she forced them to relax. She filled her mug once the coffee maker had finished. “What makes you say that?”

“The strict schedule, the perfect pressed clothes, the way you hold yourself.” Angie shrugged, searching through the cabinets for a pan. It was one Peggy remembered buying and never using. It was already looking well loved after a month of someone using it regularly. “I had a few friends of mine who got involved in the factories, some enlisted, too. Would’ve joined up myself if my parents were able to manage without me, and it’s a good thing I didn't. I can’t imagine if I’d got myself killed before my parents’ accident. They would’ve whooped me out of the afterlife if Luca had to take care of Chris and Gia and Frankie. He’s sweet, but he can barely remember to tie his shoes, that boy. Lord knows how he’s gonna make it through school.”

Peggy surprised herself with a laugh and leaned back against the counter. Angie’s prattling could have been annoying, if everything she said wasn’t absolutely ridiculous. “I did serve.”

“You don’t gotta talk about it,” Angie said, pouring batter onto the hot, oiled pan, “but if you ever want to, I’m happy to listen.” 

"Thank you," Peggy said, and left it at that. She’d had others offer to listen before, though only ever when they were looking for information. Typically about Steve, or any of the clandestine operations she was apart of. Angie’s offer seemed genuine. Unselfish.

But, Peggy supposed, that's what Angie was. Her entire life had been devoted to taking care of others. She watched the muscles in Angie's arms flexing while she cooked. Angie didn’t have the bulk of a soldier, but she carried the subtle strength of someone who’d had to work for everything they wanted; Angie likely had been carrying a younger sibling in one arm and conducting her business with the other since she had a sibling to hold.

The heat from the stove was making the room warm already, and Peggy felt it in her cheeks as she went to open the kitchen window. The morning breeze was cool, the southern heat not yet seeping into the air. It was a perfect complement to the delicious smell of pancakes wafting through the house.

“...and Sharon seems to be at that age where she’s crying just for attention. There shouldn’t really be anything wrong with her. I think she’s gotta cry it out a bit, but I wasn’t sure what you thought? So I stayed up with her last night.”

Peggy was busy reveling in the caffeine that was finally hitting her system before realizing Angie was waiting for an answer. “Whatever you think is best,” she said easily. “I trust you.”

Angie beamed at her. “You should. I’ve been telling you, I’m a whiz with kids, and I am. But you knew that already. And all I know is that you were an army gal and that you work a job all day.” 

“What would you like to know?”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I work for the government.”

“Doing what?”

“Paperwork, mostly.” Peggy hummed around another sip of her black coffee. “It’s all quite boring.”

Angie stacked pancakes on a plate and held it out toward Peggy. “It’s gotta be something real exciting for you to be downplaying it like that.”

Peggy decided to run another background check on Angie as she took the plate. “What makes you say that?” she asked with an easy chuckle.

“Another non answer,” Angie said with a raised eyebrow. “I have four younger siblings, Peg. Don’t think I’m not good at sniffing out lies.” She went to the fridge and poked around while Peggy brought her breakfast to the table. “Can I do another grocery run today? I only barely managed to scrape together ingredients for breakfast.”

“Of course. And while you’re out feel free to get anything else you feel is necessary. I’m sure you have an idea of what we need by now. You can use the household account that I gave you access to.”

Angie took this to heart, as Peggy learned when she came home from work to find bags and boxes littering the downstairs. It was already nearing midnight and Angie sat on the sofa opening packages, Sharon asleep next to her on the couch, tucked against the back with a pillow between her and the edge.

“Did you buy out the entire department store?” Peggy’s voice was wry, the long day having grated her patience down, but Angie didn’t seem bothered. 

“Did you know that up until today Sharon had two toys? Frankie had double that before he was even born. Kids need stimulation.” Angie took one look at her and frowned. “What kept you so long?”

“Meetings, phone calls. Idiots I work with making messes that I had to clean up,” she said with a sigh. 

“Want a drink?”

“Yes, please.”

Peggy collapsed on the couch and rested her head on the back of the cushion, lolled to the side to watch Sharon snoozing peacefully. She reached out to touch her leg, brushing her hand over her baby smooth skin, before turning to take in the room. There was paper and packaging littered on top of the rug. Peggy was fairly certain there hadn't been a rug before.

She slipped off her heels and toed against it, happy that it was nice and plush for the children. She'd seen Frankie trip multiple times, and she'd barely spent a total twenty minutes with him. “Why isn’t she in the crib?”

“She was screaming her head off. I figured it was better she stay quiet than wake Frankie and the neighbors.” Angie looked back at her. “You want me to try putting her down upstairs?”

“I don’t think I could handle her being loud right now, even from a floor away.” She accepted a glass of scotch from Angie, and took a sip. “How’d you know what I wanted?”

“It was the only bottle open. I know you’re my boss and all, but I feel like I should really scold you for keeping your liquor cabinet better stocked than your pantry.”

“If you had to work with the lot I did all day, you’d do the same.” Peggy drank again, watching Sharon open and close her mouth in her sleep.

Angie pursed her lips. “Want to talk about your day?”

“Not really, no,” she lied, and closed her eyes at the sight of dimples on the infant’s cheeks. 

She heard Angie walking around the back of the couch and stop behind her, so it didn't come as a surprise to feel her hands settle on her shoulders, starting to rub some of the tension away. 

Peggy waved her away. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t get used to this treatment,” she teased, “I’m not your personal servant or anything, but you look like you need it.”

Peggy chuckled, let the scotch warm her from the inside out, as Angie's equally warm, and rather talented hands smoothed away the knots.

After that morning, Peggy continued waking before the children to a bleary-eyed and talkative Angie, and coming home when the children were asleep to an Angie that was making the house feel more and more domestic. One evening Peggy stood eating cold leftovers, and noticed the two finger paintings that had been hung in the kitchen, side by side, with the names of the young artists written in Angie's hand beneath them.

Both were hideous, really, colors clashing with no discernible patterns. Frankie's very vaguely resembled a house with people, Sharon's all lines and dots, a tiny handprint. She reached out to touch it.

Peggy felt her throat thickening around the food as she swallowed a bite, but didn’t allow the emotion to overtake her, not when she had more calls to make from the office. 

“It’s sweet, isn’t it?” Angie said, and Peggy didn’t startle. She was getting far too used to sharing a home with someone else. “I put the dates on the back so we’d know how old they were, in the future.”

The phone rang in her office down the hall, the call coming in on her private secure line that wasn’t connected to the rest of the house. “I’ll need to be getting that,” Peggy said, glad for the excuse of a war to get her out of the conversation. 

* * *

The heat wave had been awful and Peggy woken from a nap on her office's couch to hair matted at the back of her neck despite the centralized air she’d had installed. Even with the brief rests, she’d only gotten two hours of sleep at most, and was dead on her feet as she grabbed her briefcase and purse from her car and started toward the house. She had called Angie to let her know that she'd be home late, but that had been three days ago. Possibly four. 

A few strands of sun streaked the sky, the last dredges of the day her only indication as to what the time was. Music floated through the open window and she came into the house to find Frankie dancing with the typical inhibition of a clumsy child, Sharon giggling in Angie's arms as they bounced around the room to the sound of Glenn Miller's band.

“Peggy!” Angie said with a big grin, dancing over to her and depositing Sharon in her arms before Peggy could object. “See, kiddo? I told you your Auntie would be back soon. She missed you,” she added to Peggy, tugging her into the living room as Peggy adjusted her arms around Sharon, who was squealing with delight and already tugging at her hair that had fallen from her bun. 

The evening had only just taken the edge off the heat, the night air making the curtains float happily—and those were new, weren’t they? Peggy had had blinds to cover the windows, but the light cotton curtains that lent a new life and lightness to the room wasn’t anything she’d purchased herself.

“What’s this, then?” Peggy asked, automatically bouncing Sharon in time to the big band sounds, chasing the beat of the trumpets. 

“Well, Frankie was acting rotten, and Sharon and I decided that taking a trip to a dancehall might help him,” Angie said, swooping him up as he giggled. 

“I’m not rotten,” he said, and Peggy was almost surprised to hear him talk. Of course he was able to, he was nearly school aged, after all, but she’d only ever seen him in passing. The music was inspiring some confidence, it seemed. 

“That’s right, not anymore you’re not, mister,” Angie said, leaning down and giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Sharon clapped her hands together in Peggy’s arms, entirely off beat but sweet all the same. 

Peggy found herself laughing as brightly as the children as they spun, thoughts of armistices and the thirty eighth parallel drifting away, no longer concerned with the troops in Hawaii or the calls she’d need to make in a few short hours.

Angie whispered something in Frankie’s ear and set him down. He walked over to Peggy, shy again in the face of someone who was still a near stranger, despite living in her house. “Can I please dance with you?” he asked. She passed Sharon to Angie and took his hands in her own.

She tried not to think what they were grubby with. Why were children always so sticky?

“An offer from such a handsome young man is something I can’t refuse,” she said solemnly, spinning him as he laughed, the record spinning them to another track.

Peggy caught Angie’s eyes, sparkling in the lamplight, and it did feel like a dancehall, Peggy thought, the energy just as electric, and she supposed she felt like a soldier on leave for a night before returning to the frontline the next day. 

Of course, she’d be behind her desk barking orders at the imbeciles on Capitol Hill who ignored her advice every step of the way despite her superior experience, instead of anywhere near the frontline. But that wasn’t what she thought of as Angie beamed at her, Sharon in her arms. 

“I should probably put her down,” Angie said once the song slowed.

“I can do it,” Peggy said, patting Frankie’s shoulder as she ended their dance. “It’s been a while. She doesn’t need another evening feeding?”

“All taken care of,” Angie said, hefting her brother into her arms as he squirmed. “This fella’s gotta get put down, too.”

“I’m not tired,” he whined, though his eyelids had begun drooping. 

“Sure you’re not. We’ll lie in bed until you are.” Angie shot Peggy a conspiratorial look and she had to bite back to a grin.

Peggy hadn’t been in Sharon’s room lately, other than at night for a goodnight kiss whenever she came home, but with the light on she could tell now that Angie had painted it light green; it smelled fresh, and likely had happened while she was sleeping in her office. A thick rug on the floor greeted Peggy’s bare feet as she changed Sharon, got her into pajamas and the crib. She was surprised that Sharon didn’t fight her, didn’t cry for more than a few moments of protest as she settled.

Angie was good for her. Frankie, too, it seemed, from the way she’d been watching him during the dance. It reminded her of the way she'd been with Michael, always amazed by what he said and did. There were pictures of them as children where Peggy would look up at him instead of at the camera.

She pulled the door mostly closed. When she passed Frankie’s room in the hallway she listened to Angie read to him through the crack of his door.

It was an intimate moment that she had no right to, so she forced herself to keep walking until she returned to the living room. She stood staring at the record player as the music slowed further to another track, reaching for it when there were steps on the stairs behind her. 

“You’re turning it off?” Angie asked, looking more tentative now without the kids as a buffer between them.

Not that they needed the children as a buffer. They had plenty of conversations without the children. 

It didn’t matter whether it was over breakfast with the deadline of the workday approaching, or in a dimly lit room with a gentle summer wind raising the hair on Peggy’s arms and the evening stretching before them.

“I don’t need to,” Peggy said, hand hovering by the record as _Moonlight Serenade_ floated into the room.

“This one’s nice,” Angie said with a shrug, and walked over to hold out a hand with a flourish of a bow. “May I have this dance?”

Peggy’s lips pulled up. She took Angie’s hand. “You may.”

It was rather nice to hold, after her brother’s. Cool, soft, light in her own. “You didn’t ask as politely as Frankie did,” Peggy teased, sliding a hand onto Angie’s shoulder as Angie’s found her waist. If they were to do this, they may as well do it properly.

“He’s a natural Don Juan,” Angie said with a grin, swaying with her as the music curled around them. “He was a little scared of you before tonight, I think. He mentioned just now that you were nice.”

“I know I haven’t been around much.” Peggy sighed. “Sharon’s hair is longer than I remember.”

“Did you like the pigtails? I thought they were cute.”

“They are. And you redid her room.”

“I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

They danced for a minute, and Angie’s head found Peggy’s shoulder. “You look like death warmed up tonight, you know?”

“You’re quite the charmer. Does that work on the other girls you dance with?” Peggy joked. If she’d slept more, she’d likely have been more wary of what she said. 

Angie’s laugh was just as lovely as the music, and Peggy relaxed, glad to have not offended her. “Who said I danced with other girls?”

“You seem to be used to leading.”

“I do, don’t I?” 

The song ended, the record over. The spell broke. 

Angie squeezed Peggy’s hand lightly and stepped back. “You should give me a warning if you’re not gonna be home for a couple nights again. I was worried about you.”

Peggy’s hands were far too empty as they settled at her sides. “Work was… hectic.”

“Let me guess, Korea called a few times?”

Peggy’s mouth flattened to a line. It was answer enough for Angie, who nodded and busied herself putting the record away. 

“I get it, national secrets and all that,” Angie said with a wave of her hand. “You don’t gotta tell me. But, you know, not all secrets are meant to be kept.”

Peggy thought of the terrible things that she had done in shadows in the name of what was right, of the Senator that was having friends and neighbors turn against each other in suburban whispers and Hollywood scandals, of Michael caught up in his shellshock enough that he’d kept on pretending he was dead and how that might have been for the best, now that she’d thought of every angry thing she’d have said to him if she’d known, of Steve’s last words to her.

“Most are.”

Angie turned to look at her, and there was nothing of the warmth lingering from their dance. She started toward the kitchen. “I’ll get breakfast ready for tomorrow.”

Peggy watched Angie disappear into the hallway before she could come up with something else to say.

* * *

Peggy got out of bed, the sun coming in her window at an angle she hadn't yet seen. She'd finally had a chance to crash the night before, and was planning on having the laziest morning possible while still working from her home office.

That was until she found Howard at the kitchen table. Howard, who was looking far too comfortable as he flirted with Angie.

Things had been tense since Peggy had upset her a few nights before, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed watching Howard make eyes at her. 

“You didn’t tell me you’d gotten yourself a housewife,” Howard said with a grin at Peggy. 

She scowled and took the plate of food from in front of him. The sound of a children’s radio program sounded through the hallways, and Sharon sat in her chair at the table. 

“Angie’s not my housewife,” Peggy said sharply, sitting and taking a bite out of the stolen toast. 

Angie set a cup of tea in front of Peggy, prepared the way she liked it, and she refused to look caught.

“Sure,” Howard said, and leaned forward. “You coming to work today, or what? Dean is dropping by, and I know how much you hate him. You can give him a good talking down, get all your anger out.” 

“I don’t think Mr. Acheson is, overall, disagreeable. It’s his boss I take issue with.”

“And the fact that he's asked you about your thing with a certain Captain has nothing to do with it?” 

“Do shut up, Howard.”

He held up his hands, and then used one of them to snatch a piece of bacon off the stolen plate. "I'm not here just to bother you.”

“You had me fooled. Why are you here?”

“To make sure you're awake. We need you back at SHIELD already.”

Peggy had a bit of the eggs. Ridiculous to have planned on working from home. There was a war on, after all. She must be getting soft.

“You work at SHIELD? Isn’t that the big ugly building in the Potomac?” Angie interrupted, turning from where she was preparing some sandwiches for lunch, as it was nearing noon.

Peggy reached over to wipe a bit of food from Sharon’s mouth with a sigh.

“She runs it,” Howard said, and Peggy kicked him under the table.

“Jeez. I knew you had some big job, but I didn't think it was like _that._ No wonder you haven’t been getting any sleep.” Angie called Frankie in, and his feet padded against the tiled floor as he ran, slowing as he saw the unfamiliar figure in the kitchen. “Say hi to Peggy, Frankie,” she instructed. 

He went over and gave her a sideways hug, and Peggy pressed a kiss to his head. “Good morning. Or afternoon, I suppose.” 

"G'morning," Frankie murmured. He was quiet, shy again in Howard’s presence, and avoided looking at him. 

“Angie, do you mind giving us a moment alone? You two could take your lunch in the dining room.”

Angie glanced between them and nodded, taking Frankie’s hand in hers and guiding him to the other room. 

“Cute kid. Cute girl, too.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Should I be expecting an announcement anytime soon?” 

Peggy huffed. “She’s my _nanny_.”

“Funny that that’s the part you’re concerned about.” 

She blushed, scowled, and stuffed a bite of toast in her mouth. She’d made the mistake of admitting to an evening she’d spent with a girl in France to Howard in an act of solidarity after catching him in the lab with one of his male assistants, and had regretted it ever since. 

“What’s going on at the office?”

He crossed his hands on the table and leaned forward, easily shifting to business. “We gotta get a team in the field.”

“I’ve been saying that for weeks.”

“Yeah, and this is me finally giving my approval. But we gotta keep it small, close to the chest.”

Peggy was well aware that the U.S. Government saw her power as a threat and were likely to start an investigation into SHIELD, not for the sake of rooting out communism in their city, but for the sake of causing discord. It would be best if no one were to be made aware of their dealings when it came to the Soviets, and avoiding any leak would be prudent.

“You think one of us should go.”

“I think it should be you and one or two agents. Get in the field, see what you gather. We’re not getting all the information.”

“That’s what I feared.” Peggy looked over at Sharon who made a sound, smashing her hand into the mashed banana on the plastic plate in front of her. “How long do you think it'll take?”

“It’s recon, not fighting. I’m not saying go in unarmed, but it shouldn’t take too long to slink around, and you were always good at extracting information. You’ll be home to your family soon enough.”

It was a moment of rare insight from Howard, and the soft expression on his face bothered her to no end. “I wasn’t worried.”

“Just like you’re not the type of person that falls for the help?”

Peggy’s chair scraped against the floor as she pushed it back. “I’ll be at the office after dinner. I’ll see you there.”

* * *

Arranging the trip was a nightmare of logistics, and her mind kept going back to Angie, Frankie, and Sharon, though she knew she had nothing to be worried about, especially with Angie’s many reassurances (“I’ll make sure they both know you miss them,” and “It won’t be much different from how much you’re working lately,” and the more sarcastic, “Honestly, English, how will I survive without an extra mouth to feed while you’re gone?”).

(She arranged for a heightened security detail while she was gone, nonetheless.)

Peggy returned to U.S. soil a week later with new information, a broken arm, three stitches in her side, and a week's worth of sleep to catch up on.

She let herself in house in the middle of the night, leaving the lights off to help stave off a fatigue headache as she climbed up the stairs. There was a creak of a floor board beside, and it was the only precursor to the whistle of air and pain in her leg. Peggy responded instinctively to the attack, twirling and pinning the attacker to the wall, letting the pain in her arm disappear into background noise.

“Ow, _crap_ ,” Angie gasped, and Peggy let her go, stumbling back and grabbing for the light switch on the wall. 

“Angie?”

“Peggy? I thought you were a robber!”

Peggy frowned as Angie rubbed her shoulder where her arm had been twisted behind her, a baseball bat in her other hand. “It’s my own bloody home."

“You were skulking around in the dark! And you’re back early.” Angie took in the sling, her indignant expression melting into concern. “You’re injured? What happened?”

“Nothing,” she said, though the move she’d done to pin Angie had pulled at her stitches. When she looked down to assess the damage, there was a patch of red coming through her shirt. 

Angie’s eyes drew down to the blood. “Did I do that?”

“No, not you,” Peggy said, rubbing at her forehead. The pulled stitch would be a pain to fix. She started toward the bathroom and Angie followed. 

“Do you need help?”

Peggy hesitated, her arm aching as the adrenaline faded. “Do you know how to give stitches?”

“How hard could it be?” Angie asked with a shrug and an apologetic smile. “Kind of my own fault, isn’t it?”

Peggy sat on the closed lid of the toilet while Angie pulled out the first aid kit. “I’m glad you’re as vigilant as you are about intruders, though I doubt the security team wouldn’t let anyone get past the front door.”

“There’s a security team?”

“I’m the Director of SHIELD, Angie. Of course there is.”

“Oh. Huh. That makes sense.” She knelt by Peggy’s side and started unbuttoning Peggy’s shirt. 

Peggy reached for her wrist, stilling Angie’s hand.

“I gotta get your shirt off to see the wound, Peg.”

“I can do it.” Peggy tried it with her one useful hand.

"Don't be ridiculous. You don’t need to do everything. My job's to take care of you and Sharon, isn't it?" Angie’s fingers joined hers, brushing over the silk of her slip, material far too thin to keep Peggy from feeling the warmth on her stomach. 

"I hired you to be Sharon's nanny. Not mine."

"You want me to stop cooking enough for you? Maybe leave your dry cleaning for you to pick up?"

"No," Peggy admitted begrudgingly.

"Exactly." Angie was gentle as she pulled her blouse open and back on Peggy's shoulders once the sling was off. Peggy had to do a bit of maneuvering to pulled her free arm through to help get her bandaged arm out. “This happen a lot? You getting someone to play nurse for you?” Angie joked, and kneeling between Peggy's legs and looking up at her, there was a question in her eyes that wasn’t the same thing she’d asked. 

“Typically I do it myself,” Peggy said, knowing that wasn’t the answer Angie was looking for as soon as her smile started to look plastic. “I had a… friend. In the war. He’d often help, if I needed it, though I patched him up more than anything.” She stood, supporting herself by leaning on Angie as Angie lifted the slip up and off. 

Peggy winced as the drying blood stuck to the slip and pulled on the wound.

Angie sat her down again, knelt again, her brows pulled together as she used tweezers to tug the popped stitch out. Peggy clenched her teeth and breathed out through her nose, measured, practiced. 

“Sounds awful romantic,” Angie said, getting the needle ready with the stitch, “you bent over some half clothed soldier as you patch him up by moonlight alone.”

“Oh, it wasn’t,” Peggy said with a little laugh, and then a quick apology as Angie glared up at her for moving. “He was always grumbling about it. Thought I was wasting resources to patch him up. He was such a stubborn arse.”

“Were you and he…?” Angie didn’t look up, focused on closing up the part of the wound that had opened.

“We were.”

“Was his last name Michaels?” 

Peggy made a face, too tired to follow the train of thought. “No. Why do you ask?”

“That’s the fake name you used in the ad. You always call yourself Director Carter when you answer your calls. Not that I’m listening!” She tugged on the skin and Peggy hissed a breath. “Sorry, sorry! Almost done.”

“No,” Peggy gritted out, closing her eyes and focusing on something other than the pain. The conversation wasn’t helping. “That was my brother’s name. Sharon’s father.”

Angie was quiet for a moment as she cleaned around the new stitch, sopping up the blood. “I always kinda wondered if she was your kid. And with this beau of yours, well. I’ve known people who lose their husbands and they can’t even look at their kids, you know? You seem so hesitant around her.”

“I never wanted to be a mother,” Peggy said, words heavy. She watched Angie wash her hands in the sink, Peggy's blood running off her fingers in pink water. “After the war I used to wish that I was. That I’d had something to remember him by.” She swallowed. She was over tired, admitting too much. Peggy cleared her throat and reached for her shirt to hold to her chest, feeling far too exposed in just the brassiere and the skirt.

“I hated Frankie for the first year I was looking after him,” Angie said, not looking over at Peggy to allow her some privacy. “I hated Chris and Luca, and my sister, too. Talking to them was a reminder that my parents were gone, and it was easy to blame them for it. Had to get over it, of course, when my aunt threatened to give my brother to family services and adopt him out so she wasn’t looking after a toddler and a school girl, and at that point Chris was home, too, and she had her hands full. So I had to face it.”

“Yes," Peggy said, her voice ice cold, "I suppose I should simply face it.” She got onto her knees on the floor, slowly to avoid hurting herself more, and packed the first aid kit up again. “Thank you for the advice.”

“I wasn’t saying—”

“You’re dismissed for the night, Angie. I can take it from here.”

Angie crossed her arms. “Dismissed? Are you going to wake up with your niece tonight?”

“Yes,” Peggy snapped. “I managed to take care of her before you moved in, if you don’t remember.”

“She’s teething,” Angie said, grimacing. Her eyes were still soft. Peggy looked away. She didn't need nor want sympathy.

“I'm well aware. I’m not completely useless.” She stuffed the first aid kit back under the sink, and pulled herself up with her one good arm, then stormed off toward her room.

“Only mostly,” Angie called after her, which was insolent and cruel and Peggy had half a mind to fire her then and there, but settled for shutting her bedroom door behind her instead, the thought of a house without Frankie’s happy chatter and bright toys scattered in the hall and Angie’s humming too overwhelmingly bleak to consider.

* * *

Angie continued to perform her job with aplomb, much to Peggy’s annoyance and relief. She'd even managed Sharon's night time fussing that Peggy had slept through.

Slowly over the next few weeks, angry glances and clipped answers between them started to soften. Things largely felt back to normal, even, though what exactly that normal was - tense, but not in a bad way? Casual past the point of an employer and employee? - Peggy couldn't quite pin down.

Another few days passed where Peggy had to stay at the office. She made sure to call Angie and warn her.

It was late at night when she came back, and without knowing why, she wound up in the nursery, surprised to see Angie in the rocking chair. "You're back," she said softly, looking up. "How did--"

"Can I?" Peggy asked, looking between Sharon and Angie. 

Sharon made a few unhappy whines when Angie moved, but calmed as soon as she was in Peggy's arms. "She missed you. She doesn't sleep as well when you're gone," Angie murmured, standing close, staring at Sharon between them.

"I think I might have missed her, too, for the first time." She tried for a smile, though it became more of a grimace. "I feel that I should apologize."

Angie looked up at her. "I feel that you should, too," she said, and Peggy had to bite back a smart retort. Frustrating woman.

"I was an arse. I was in pain, and I was tired, and I shouldn't have reacted to you sharing your story the way that you did."

"You mean by taking it as a personal attack?"

Peggy glared at her. “Do you accept the apology or not?”

Angie glared right back. “That didn’t sound like an apology.”

“I’m sorry.”

"It's fine." Angie took half a step back. "I think she cares for you more than you know. We all do," she said, fiddling her hands together in an uncharacteristic display of nerves. "I'll be... I've gotta prep some snacks for tomorrow." She nearly ran away.

"Do you understand a thing that comes out of her mouth?" Peggy asked Sharon once they were alone. Sharon continued chewing on the frozen teething ring, her eyes starting to drift shut. 

"Neither do I. But she is a great cook, so we ought to tolerate her, hm?"

Peggy sat in the rocking chair and spoke to Sharon until her fingers uncurled from the teething toy. Peggy set it aside, and brushed a kiss to her forehead before putting her back in the crib. She was so much bigger than she was when she'd first come to Peggy, cranky from the travel and all of the unfamiliar people. Peggy had been tempted to contest the fact that they were even related, until she'd seen Sharon's face for the first time. 

She brushed the back of a finger over Sharon's cheek. She was growing out of the shape of Peggy's losses and into something entirely new. It was terrifying and exciting all at once. 

When she went downstairs, Angie was standing by the radio, holding a glass of scotch.

"I didn't know you indulged," she said, joining her as the quiet jazz station continued to play. 

"I usually don't." She took a big sip and handed the glass to Peggy. "I might’ve pushed too far. So I’m sorry, too. Sometimes we aren’t ready to hear the things we need to.”

Peggy swirled the drink in the glass, took a sip. "You were right. I can't be mad at you for being honest."

"I'm going to remind you that you said that." Angie took the glass back, their fingers brushing as she did, and downed the rest of the scotch.

Laughing, Peggy grabbed another glass from the cabinet along with the bottle, and came back with refills for them both. "You're allowed to have your own glass, Angie."

“I wasn’t sure what the rules on that were, since I’m technically working.”

“You deserve some time off. I'm overworking you."

“Even on a day off I’d still be taking care of Frankie, doing his laundry, all that.”

“I could do it for a day, look after Frankie and Sharon both.” Angie’s skeptical look made Peggy huff indignantly. “I could manage it!”

“Please. You were barely managing your niece, and that was before she started teething. And you deserve a day off, too, you know.”

“There’s a war on.”

Angie watched her, searching for something that Peggy couldn't decipher. “Is it hard? Your job?”

Peggy looked into her glass. “It's challenging. I love it, unfortunately. I’m quite good at it, too.”

Angie grinned. “That I never doubted.” Her smile was already looser, and Peggy felt her shoulders following suit. “You swanning around in those jackets and heels and lipstick?” she motioned at Peggy. “Intimidating everyone who tries to get in your way.”

“You’ve thought about this, have you?” Peggy asked with a smirk.

“Not, um. Not a lot.” Angie’s cheeks went a lovely shade of pink, matching the shade on her lips, which Peggy’s eyes fell to. 

“Do I intimidate you?”

“Nah. You’re not as scary as you try to make yourself. Not around me, anyway,” Angie leaned closer. “I think you like me taking you down a notch, anyway.”

Peggy laughed. “Is that so? You seem to have me all figured out.”

“Not entirely.” Angie looked up at her, and there was that question again, that she was always asking, in every stolen glance.

Well, Peggy thought it deserved a proper answer, even if it meant risking everything.

She closed the distance between them, kissing Angie softly, tasting the drink on her lips, the sweet, waxy lipstick, the breath of an _oh_ that came out of her. 

Angie’s open mouth presented an opportunity that Peggy was loath to ignore, and felt Angie’s hand slide into her hair as one of them made a sound and she didn’t know or care who exactly it was.

They both managed to set their glasses down and reconnect, this time with more energy, more urgency, certainty translating to heat.

They stayed in the embrace until Peggy shifted the wrong way and jostled her injured arm in the process, and too soon they were pulling away. 

“I didn’t know,” Angie said at the same time as Peggy asked, “Was that alright?” resulting in a few awkward laughs and blushes, and Peggy rubbed at her face. 

“I thought I made it pretty obvious that it was alright, Peg,” Angie said, eyes bright from the drink, and something else, too. 

It only made sense to kiss her again.

Angie pulled back and changed the station until she caught a Billie Holiday song, a few bars in. "Aha! Perfect." She wrapped her arms around Peggy’s neck, and Peggy tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“ _Living for you_ ,” Angie sang along, voice as soft and easy as this new thing between them, and Peggy wrapped her good arm around Angie’s waist, “ _i_ _s easy living_ …”

“I’ll remind you of that the next time you complain about all the laundry the four of us generate,” Peggy teased, cutting her off.

Angie’s head tilted back with a laugh. “You talk too much, English,” she chastised. “I wasn’t done singing.”

Later that night, hours after they'd parted with one last kiss outside of Peggy's bedroom, Peggy would worry whether she’d ruined things with Angie, and once again would imagine the house without her, and the pain of it would be better defined, a stronger pull in her gut, a shape with sharp outlines. She would realize that she wouldn’t miss Angie for the quiet of the house or the way the laundry would pile or the groceries would go un-purchased and food uncooked. She’d miss Angie’s laugh, Angie holding her to account. Angie watching her knowingly. Angie watching her hungrily. Angie with Sharon in her arms and Frankie trailing behind. Angie with music floating around her.

But for that moment, the room was pleasantly warm, smelling of scotch and the summer and two happy and well looked after children, the sounds of the night coming in through the open window. The cricket chirping matched the earth tones of the pillows on the couch that Peggy couldn’t remember purchasing herself; it was yet another shift of the house slowly becoming a home around them, a sanctuary where she could momentarily ignore the fights that were still raging half a world away, the people she’d lost, the parts of herself she'd closed off for good. 

She could focus on the parts that she'd once given up hope on that were full to the brim, now, near to overflowing.

Peggy kissed Angie to silence more complaints. She wasn’t ready to hear the next line of the song spoken in her ear, not when this was so new. But soon, she thought, it would be a secret of Angie’s she’d be ready to share.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was so fun that this word count really got away from me! Not exactly sure how that happened.
> 
> The title is from the Billie Holiday song:
> 
> "Living for you is easy living  
> It's easy to live when you're in love  
> And I'm so in love there's nothing in life but you..."


End file.
